Rangers of Chaos
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: The life of a Power Ranger is anything but normal, and being a wizard never helps. A series of oneshots related to Child of Darkness and Children of Light. Chapter Four: Hunt. Every story has a beginning; tonight was the start of Chip's heroic journey.
1. Connections

_**Disclaimer:**_ Yeah, I don't own Power Rangers. Sad, huh? It'd be a lot different if I did. Less needless carbon-copying, more romance, real drama, a little depth, some of that continuity stuff, all that good junk. But what can you do? PR belongs to the Mouse, so we take what we can get, I guess.

* * *

Everything was warm, always so warm. Just a perk of being a fire element, he guessed. Of course, he never would've even thought about such a thing until a few months ago. Back then, he didn't believe in magic or have any real friends, let alone a girlfriend, and he never stayed in one place for too long. It was amazing how much could change in a few short months.

Magic was a huge part of his life now, permeating everything around him, even beyond the boundaries of Rangerdom. It felt completely natural to him to say a few words, point his wand and just make things happen, something he would've felt silly just thinking about a year or two ago. Until that first fateful day in Briarwood, he would vehemently deny that such a thing could exist, mostly because of his own experiences, all negative. His early uses of magic, in hindsight, were out of his control. Now they weren't, and that was all that he needed. Magic was something he'd live with for the rest of his life.

Not just plain magic, though - he was a follower of one of the core five branches. He followed the path of fire, the magic that a magician named Ignos had forged eons ago. To others, the path may have seemed dangerous, an accident waiting to happen, but to him it was just second nature. He'd always enjoyed fires, from that first tiny candle his mother had bought for him in Scandinavia that he'd watched for hours, to the huge bonfires that his grandparents held every year with family and friends. The warmth was comforting to even, always there when things were the worst. He felt at peace when he was close to a fire.

That wasn't where it ended. The core five branches, along with the five others still in practice, were based on light magic, on honor and loyalty and truth and all of those good things, but his magic wasn't limited by that. By way of a series of predestined events, he had access to both the light and dark aspects of magic, both of which blended together to make something completely original - balanced magic. It was both sides and neither, but it still applied to his specific branch. It gave him the ability to learn neutral spells with greater ease and spells of other branches with less difficulty.

His magic extended beyond just that of spells and Ranger powers, too. It affected odd little bits of his life with side affects associated closely with his branch. Whether they were natural developments, or tailored toward him specifically because of his lofty status as an elemental avatar, they were interesting, in both good and bad ways.

Even on the coldest of days, he could pass with a t-shirt and jeans. It wasn't that he didn't like it; the heat was comfortable to him, and he hardly noticed it anymore. He could be asleep in a burning building and not notice. Intense heat didn't bother him anymore, but the constant aura of warmth he lived with didn't. Sometimes he just wanted to feel a cool breeze on his face. It had taken him weeks of practice, but he'd started to be able to turn it off, to stop being a human space heater.

That wasn't the only perk of his powers, though. Udonna didn't know what the extent of any of their abilities were, being unprecedented cases within the realm of magic, and he'd wanted to test his boundaries. One boring Saturday afternoon, a load of firewood and his own finger as a match later, he knew that he was completely impervious to the devastating effects of his element. Walking through the bonfire he'd started completely untouched was a pretty stunning feat.

Of course, there was always the healing; it was how he saved Madison and Vida, and it was apparently a gift from his patron Titan, Ignos. It was a strange feeling in itself, like a hollow in his chest filled with quivering energy. Odd, to be sure, but nothing he couldn't deal with when magic was apart of his everyday life.

All the thought about his powers always led him to a question, though, one he often wondered: why had Ignos chosen him specifically? What made him worthy to be a Power Ranger, let alone the Red Ranger and avatar of an Ancient? He knew that he'd had some sort of special power since he was little, what with all the 'incidents' he caused, but what made him so special that he could access the magic within himself without consciously deciding to, even as a child? He was just the quiet, stubborn kid who did what he wanted and wasn't out to please anyone but himself. His kind were a dime a dozen among teenagers. It wasn't that he didn't love it - just being a wizard was enough - but he had to wonder if there were better candidates out there sometimes.

His powers weren't all quirky little side affects and fun times, though; they could be tiring, too. He constantly had to be aware of everything, had to keep his temper in check so no one would get hurt. Of all of the elements, fire had the potential to do the greatest damage without warning or hesitation, and he could be just as random. Small things could fall together and set him off just as easily, but he was hard to set off without outside interference. It was something he'd accepted and something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life.

Destiny was something he was learning to accept, too. His was larger than he could've ever imagined. It was hard to believe that he was destined for such big things when he was just another teenager, another magician among the hundreds of thousands in the magical realm. Red Mystic Force Ranger, the Light, Avatar of Ignos, Legendary Magician of Fire, the greatest wizard to ever live - all titles he'd been given, some before he was even born. Some people would collapse under such a tremendous burden, but he persevered as best as he could, his friends and family there to support him when it all seemed so surreal and more than he could handle. It was difficult to believe that he was that powerful, that he was the key to winning this age-old war, when he felt so normal, like any other person he passed in the street.

Still, this was the hand that fate had dealt him, and he wasn't about to fight it. You didn't fight fate, and he wasn't one to run away. He'd stand his ground against his enemies until death and beyond.

* * *

Calm - such a nice word. It seemed to fit her to a T, at least when there wasn't a huge problem to deal with. She broke the trend when worse came to worse, but even in the middle of crisis she could usually hold together an only slightly fractured facade. A calmness always underlaid her other emotions, bringing a steadiness to them no matter if they were joy or anger.

Even was another word she'd choose, ever like the tides moving in and out in an eternal rhythm. It kept her in tune with everything, in synch with all that her metaphorical waves touched upon. She guessed that was why she liked film-making so much - it kept her aware of everybody and everything around her. Her films documented the world as she observed it.

The more she thought about it and read books on the elements from Root Core, the more her own made sense to her. She'd always exhibited signs of your typical water element, now that she looked at it - emphatic, peaceful, a little shy, intuitive and artistic in her own way. It was as if she'd been born destined to be a water, and the avatar for the source of all water magic, nonetheless.

It was certainly odd to think about how she'd been chosen before she was even born, how each of them had been chosen to defend two worlds from impending doom, or something to that effect. Seers had long foretold their existence, but had never been specific about who was to be chosen. By the way the pieces fell together, it was easy to assume that they been chosen not long before their births, the Ancients knowing of the escalating war between good and evil magic and its future threat. Fate, destiny, whatever you pleased, drove them all together when their destinies called, creating the force that had been awaited for ages and promised to bring down the terror of the darkness for good. To be someone of prophesied existence was hard to wrap her brain around sometimes, but she could see why their patron Ancients had chosen each of them even before they were born and despite their origins.

Even as a child, trips to the beach had enraptured her. Something about the waves drew her in seductively. It was just natural, the way the tiny walls of water crashed against the sand, and it captured her every time.

Once, on a flight to Hawaii, she'd stared out the window for the long hours of the trip, mesmerized by the seemingly endless miles of ocean spanning out beneath them. Even from tens of thousands of miles up, the great body of water extended forever, and so did her attention to it. She'd never once broken her gaze on it until the moment they landed and it was no longer in plain view.

To this day, it had a calming effect on her to see the ocean, or any body of water large enough to gaze into. Living so close to a beach was the best possible thing for her. Its spellbinding power drew her in and held her indefinitely, another grain of sand caught in the waves. She would eventually break herself away, but the pull when she was around it was constant.

Sometimes, when under its power, she swore she could see more than just lapping waves. Other images came and went in haphazard flashes, some of things she'd never seen and others of events she knew hadn't happened yet. Once, on an exceptionally hot summer day, their mother had taken both her and Vida to the beach to get them out of the house. They'd spent hours there, frolicking between the sand and water, building castles and burying Maddie so that Vida could make a sand mermaid overtop of her, ironic now that she looked back at it.

Throughout all of the fun, something kept drawing her gaze back to the water, an image of Vida sitting around their house with a cast on her arm. It had been something easy to brush off then, although it did leave a strange feeling lingering in the back of her mind. The rest of their little trip wrapped up splendidly and they went home, Maddie nearly forgetting about what she'd seen in the waves.

A week passed and it was pushed farther and farther back into the recesses of her mind. She barely gave it a thought until one day when she, Chip and Vida were playing in the park and Chip dared Vida to climb the tallest tree. Vida, being the kind of person she was even at the age of eight, took the dare despite the bad feelings Maddie was getting. Only a few branches up, one snapped, leaving the young girl to plummet to the ground.

Fortunately, she managed to break the fall with her arm, but it had definitely broken. Chip left a terrified Maddie with her twin, who was trying to hold back the tears of pain so her sister wouldn't cry more, so he could go find their mom. One day and a lot of explanations and apologies later, Maddie's vision had come true: she walked into their living room to see Vida moping on the couch because their mother wouldn't allow her to play outside and because the doctor had made her cast pink and green when she'd asked specifically for yellow and green.

For many years, Maddie couldn't help but wonder if Vida's accident had been her fault, if she was the one causing these visions to come true, especially when she found out no one else could see them. When she'd learned that, she'd stopped telling people about them and simply started feeling bad, thinking they were her fault. For a while, she'd feared for her sanity, but Vida, the one person she'd told, had calmly laid to rest any such thoughts. Whatever it was, it wasn't insanity, she'd said, and Maddie had believed her, never knowing her sister to lie to her.

Only when they'd become Rangers and magicians those few months back had everything over the years truly made sense. Her visions weren't due to insanity, but because Blue Magicians were the diviners of the magical world and therefore more open to precognitive visions and the like. The strange affinities toward water were just that - her irrevocable connection to her element. All of the small, unexplainable miracles were her powers simply trying to manifest themselves in a world that didn't believe in them. In the end, though, that was all they needed to make sense of everything - a little belief.

* * *

If there was one thing he wasn't, it was still. Not many people could recall more than half a dozen times where he'd been calm and quiet, a perfectly behaved young man. He was, in fact, quite the opposite and it cleared showed through his powers and behaviors. Sometimes he felt like if he stopped moving, he'd just fizzle out, let all of his pent up energy die.

The fact was, like the lightning he represented, he was pure energy. Sure, Vida helped ground him, along with his other friends, but light could never be captured permanently. It was always going somewhere, doing something, and it either escaped or burned out eventually. He was exactly like that - he could stay up for seventy-two straight hours on energy alone, small doses of caffeine being taken in as the hours dragged on, and then he would crash on the nearest couch or bed for almost eighteen hours. Everyone tried to keep this to a minimum, but the energy was contagious. Around him, you felt alive, if not a little immature, and so did he.

It was possible to truly ground him, though, and that was when it was nearly impossible to bring him back up. When his parents and sister had died, it had been weeks before he'd even shown signs of his former energy. Vida and Madison had tried everything to bring him out of it, being the good friends they were, but their efforts had done little to help him besides providing support and company. It had simply taken him time to once again gather the scattered pieces of his life and return to the semblance of normalcy he'd retained.

Life certainly hadn't been the same afterwards; living with his uncle on a farm was a huge change from living in the suburbs with his parents and Elly, his older sister. He'd returned to his high-spirited self completely after a few months, having adjusted to how his life was now. There wasn't a day that passed where he didn't wonder why he, out of the four of them, had been the sole survivor. It had bothered him for years, but being a Ranger had brought a shred of light to the situation: it was his destiny. He was meant to live, to fight the darkness now and protect other people from losing loved ones to a different kind of terror. He'd accepted this small truth and moved on to a certain degree, but the pain would never leave him.

His destiny, though, was something he never thought possible. Like the many fantasy novels he'd buried himself in to escape reality, he was a wizard now, a practitioner of what was thought to be impossible in the modern world. Every day, the extent of his powers didn't fail to amaze him. His could turn on a computer by merely looking at it, and six alarm clocks had been ruined in his morning fervor. Fortunately his uncle was too absent-minded to notice, or he'd be suspicious as to why electronics seemed to turn themselves on in his nephew's presence.

Even small things like static electricity could be a problem on drier days, and he was thankful that they didn't live somewhere where it got really cold and dry each winter or he'd have been screwed. Little things like plastic and loose animal fur already drifted toward him, drawn in by the small electrical charge his body built up naturally, so to live in a drier climate would have been akin to chaos for him.

The skill yellow magicians were best known for even managed to reflect his personality: potion-making. The whole art was a creative venture, pulling together an assortment of ingredients to create something new. It took quite the imagination and a memory of the arcane to master such a skill, and he'd barely grazed the surface. Until their rescue mission in the Underworld, he hadn't been very good at his magical trade, but a little motivation could get someone a long way. The Dawn Crystal he'd made was actually one of the most complicated forms of potions - one that changed from liquid to solid. It had taken all of his concentration, something not easy to muster from someone like him, but when Vida's life was on the line, it was nothing.

Since then, he'd been working on perfecting this skill, and he was getting better. Someday, he would master it, and then he'd become what he had always been destined to be: the most powerful Yellow Magician to exist.

* * *

She swore she could almost fly. It'd almost happened so many times, but her powers didn't cover that, at least not by what she'd discovered so far. The idea itself was fascinating - to spread her arms and rise into the sky, free from earthly bindings. While Maddie was entranced by the waves as they soared over the ocean as children, she'd sat perfectly still, imagining that it wasn't the plane that held her aloft but her own power, the very force of her will holding her above the earth's pull. All she'd managed to do now was hover ten or twenty feet about the ground, but she was sure she'd be able to get it eventually.

Maybe it was just fate, but every part of her element clicked with her, even the color she'd once hated. Like her infamous hair color, it was ever-changing, reflecting her on-a-dime mood swings and dye jobs. Even when it wasn't trying, it was a force to be reckoned with and spontaneous, too.

In her worst moments, when everything came together the wrong way, she was the tornado she could so literally become. Everything in her path was torn to shreds regardless of guilt of innocence, save for a few things she could never destroy whether she wanted to or not. Most everyone in the few grades above and below her own at school were aware, some painfully so, of these dangerous moods and knew to avoid them like the plague.

In the same way that she was a destructive force to be reckoned with, she too had a gentler side, one usually reserved for close friends and family. She wasn't all tornadoes and hurricane gales; she could be warm and kind when she wanted to, not that anyone outside of her immediate family and small group of friends would believe that. All they saw were the twisters, and that was fine by her. It only made it sweeter when her full personality came to light and she could see their faces.

Pink, the color she'd once reviled, was even becoming less and less appalling. She found it working itself into her wardrobe slowly, first a bracelet or a necklace, then a tank top and maybe the design on another t-shirt. What was most surprising to her was that she was okay with it. It didn't seem like such a bad color now, not when she looked at it without as much hatred. It looked good with other colors, like black, and it could add a bit of flair to her outfit. That wasn't to say that she was decked head to toe in bright pink nowadays, though. She usually used another color to downplay it a little bit, but she liked how the color stood out. It could be bright and stunning or soft and loving, and a few changes could make it mean something entirely different. It seemed so perfect for her now.

Magic was something that seemed to be perfectly woven into her life, too. It was a natural extension of her body, a power that had always been dormant within. Using it seemed right, as right as she felt when she was on her tables mixing a song. Combined with the freedom that her element itself offered, she'd always have something to stand by, something to bring her happiness, because she knew that she could never lose something as powerfully bound to her. She would never lose them, and they would never abandon her. They would only continue to grow together, becoming more powerful with every passing year.

Someday, she would be able to fly.

* * *

Strong as a tree - four simple words that so accurately could describe how he felt. He'd always felt like that, really, but it had been magnified since that day in May when they'd been opened up to their powers. Since then he'd felt sturdy, unmoving, like the person everyone could bounce off of.

Earth itself could be moved easily, some patches more than others, getting harder and harder as one delved deeper. It was just one of many eerily correct aspects of his element; getting to know him was as easy as moving away topsoil, but as you worked your way deeper into whom he really was, it took more and more effort. His innermost emotions and thoughts were well-guarded from extensive teasing during his early days in the U.S., but getting to know him that deeply showed enormous effort and few reached that far. The few that did truly knew him as a person and knew some of his most private feelings.

Of course, being Mr. Personality now, he was friends with almost everybody, just as the earth always felt each element in some form. Not many people could honestly say that they didn't like Xander Bly. Other people were simply drawn to him, by his charm and friendly demeanor. While none of them got to know him quite as closely as his four best friends did, there were those who were closer than others.

He'd always count Chip, Vida, Madison and Nick as his best friends, though. The first three had befriended in his early American days, giving him the friendship he so sorely missed, and Nick had just bonded with them so quickly, it was like he was a long-lost friend.

There had always been the potential within him to be one of the popular kids, but he'd never wanted that. He was too strange, too much the oddball, to fit in with that crowd without pretending to be someone he wasn't. Sure, people like Chip were stranger than he was, but he wasn't made to fit into the popular mold. His sense of humor was too odd, his love for music too true, his obsession with the outdoors too great and, above all, his behaviors too eccentric.

Like his element, he too held everyone together. If there was one thing he'd always try to keep, it was normalcy between his friends. Not the normalcy of your average teenager, per se, but their own offbeat brand. He hated it when friends fought, though he too knew that he did it sometimes if there was enough evidence or argument to sway him. Apologizing was always the first option if he was wrong, though. Deep down, holding together his life and friends was one of his most powerful desires, spawned by a life of sporadic upheaval.

Of course, creating random chaos was nice, too, but never enough to shake everything apart. Earthquakes had the ability to make you aware of how nice the peace beforehand really was. They didn't come too often, mind you, but just often enough to refresh your memory, and he knew how much a well-placed one could affect things. Shaking things up had the power to put everything in perspective, and so could he.

He wasn't just the guy who could've been popular but wasn't because he hung out with the 'weird' people and had an odd affinity for nature, not to mention being from an entirely different country - not anymore. He was still that person, but he'd changed since their junior year had ended last May, just as the rest of his friends had. They knew the weight of responsibility, and the pain of loss, but they'd evolved, grown into their new roles and adapted to what was expected of them, as Rangers and as people.

Earth was still the element he felt most connected to, but he felt the pull of the others. It had said somewhere that those who felt the pull of each element were usually the truest earth elements, and he'd identified with it immediately. A mishmash of bits and pieces of everything - that's what he felt like sometimes, ever since he was young. It was why he could hang out with anyone but never truly connect. None of them embodied their elements - some didn't even seem to have one - but the friends he'd unwittingly found as a lonely young man were. Each felt like a part of him, and together they created a complex web of personalities. They were like a family, but they still lacked one thing: the courageous leader, brash but loyal. On something that they knew now was anything but a coincidence, he'd appeared as they fully realized their elements, rounding out their family. It'd been odd at first, clicking with this stranger and convincing him to stay, but he'd slipped in surprisingly well.

With this destined event in place, what he'd always unconsciously desired had come into fruition. He had a second family, one he didn't have to keep secrets from or suppress quirks for, one that he meshed so perfectly with that it could be nothing but fate. There was no other explanation. He could debate it for years, but the answer was always the same.

They were destined to meet, to embody their elements, to create the Mystic Force.

* * *

_A/N_ - Yes, here it is. It isn't the first chapter of Children on Light, but I hope it'll tide you all over until that comes out. Anyway, this is probably the weakest of all of the lost/side chapters I'm going to write. The others are more backstory-oriented, and some may help set up future chapters of CoL. Stay tuned!


	2. Predecessors I

A/N - Sorry for the wait. Life has been more than hectic lately. Our play opened and we went to State as a Scholastic Bowl team, but neither of those detracted quite as much as the last reason: my mom died. It still hurts a lot, but we're piecing life back together, and typing helps. This chapter, and everything I write from now on, is dedicated to her.

Anyway, this is a small, two-part bit of history I wrote when I had writer's block with CoL. I'm back to CoL now, writing my first draft with everything I have, but the next chapter isn't actually done yet, so this is what you get. I'm not really fond of where I had to end it, but it needed to be two parts if I ever wanted it up. Writing these characters is so much fun, whether they're familiar or new. Everyone is different when they're younger, yeah? I hope you enjoy it like I have.

* * *

Sometimes, she wondered how they all managed to live together under one roof. It was a large roof, yes, but they were all such different people that somehow complemented each other perfectly. Each had their faults, to be sure, but they worked together in inexplicable synch. Leave it to the Ancients, she supposed, to bring together so many different yet alike people. When worse came to worse, they could count on one another. It was as if they'd never once been complete strangers, a handful of people who were incomprehensibly drawn together for a greater purpose.

Niella, of course, was the first she'd met, being her older sister. She was always the brighter of the pair, personality reflected in her curly golden hair. She was friendly and kind, if not a bit absent-minded, and willing to do anything for someone she cared about. Compared to more vocal and adventurous Udonna, she was a saint.

As sisters, they got along extraordinarily well, almost like friends, despite their differences. Even as royalty, or as close as one could be in that day and age, they were raised to work hard and respect everything they had. Life had been good to them, and they were to pay similar honor to everything else. They were made to work in the fields like everyone else, laboring for what would become their supper or not eating at all.

Between working and training in magic under their parents' tutelage, they somehow managed to find time to make trouble–all accidental, of course. Udonna would urge Niella to go exploring in the forest with her, Niella would object and eventually give in, they'd somehow stumble into the cave of a giant Aracria spider (or something similarly dangerous) and after barely escaping with some sort of magical trickery, Niella would chastise both Udonna and herself, but still go along with it next time. They made quite the pair, working together like only sisters could.

Leanbow's story was more complicated. He was the first she'd actually met, not someone that she was related to. He'd stumbled into her family's fields one day when she was sixteen, a gaunt teen, and promptly collapsed at her feet. Without a thought, she'd taken him back to the cottage, ignored her mother's worries that he was a fugitive of some sort, and quietly dressed his wounds and helped him heal.

Once he'd awoken, a whole week later, he staunchly refused to lay about. He put himself to work in the fields, telling them little about his life prior to then and how he wound up unconscious in the wheat. All he would say then was that they had taken him in with complete kindness, and he planned to return it, so long as he could remain with them. Her father had let him stay without question; he wasn't an overly trusting man, per se, but he saw sincerity and was curious to see more of the young man.

As it was, he seemed to fit in nicely. He was strong and clever, though never once talked back as Udonna sometimes did. With the utmost respect, he did everything he was told, and even found things to do on his own. He settled into his new life with ease, seeming so very apart of everything that it was astounding to outsiders he'd only just arrived months before. When her father extended the offer of training to him, not only in magic but in combat, he'd gratefully accepted, and displayed tremendous skill in both areas. Though his magic was a little weak at first (he claimed he'd never been formally trained, something they all believed at the time), he caught on exceptionally quickly, becoming immensely strong and knowledgeable in a short amount of time. He was a natural, it seemed.

Details of his previous life slipped out as time progressed and he became more comfortable with them: he had escaped his family and village, a great distance away, and had been traveling away from them ever since. He had left because he hadn't agreed with their ideology, and had been trained as a warrior since childhood.

As he opened up, she and Niella grew closer to him. After all, he was their age, though closer to Niella than Udonna. They formed an interesting trio: Udonna, the adventurous one, Niella, the voice of reason, and him, the one with a plan. Together, they managed to stir up trouble no matter what they did. Even when Niella met a boy, Ambrose, they found mischief together, though as a quartet and sometimes a duo. Every possibility was open to them, being young, powerful and curious. Many times, only Ambrose's smooth talking or Niella's apparent good nature, which could turn on with a single smile, saved them from big trouble.

At first, she'd been disappointed that Niella spent more and more time with Ambrose, but after a while, it seemed fine. She wasn't changing in any terrible ways, Ambrose himself was quite nice and funny, and, most of all, it gave her more time alone with Leanbow. She found herself fitting in with him much better than any of the other boys she'd known since childhood; he had a sort of wild danger to him, even if he kept it battened down most of the time. He really shone when they were trying to get out of a scrape, when he showed his true skills with magic and swordsmanship. She enjoyed herself more around him than around anyone else; she just couldn't pin down exactly what it was about him she liked.

They all worked together in the fields, and at night, their father trained him. With two daughters, he had only this newcomer to instruct in the ways of the knight, something few were privileged to receive. His skill was less of a surprise these days, considering what they'd learned of his past, but training as a knight was still difficult and revered.

Apparently, fighting was an integral part of his upbringing where he was from. It wasn't regular training, either, but intense sessions that could last for days, even weeks, and always ended with many wounds. He'd told them as much, and they had accepted it, knowing him to be of a place very different from their own land. They didn't realize how right they were.

* * *

_Dinner that night proceeded as usual, the five people at the table talking and eating like any other night. Unlike any other night, one occupant was quiet, hardly talking to the others at all. Udonna had noticed, being particularly in tune with him, but hadn't brought it up yet. When he was brooding, he needed time to think; she'd learned that much in the past couple of years._

_Then, in the lull between conversations, he set down his cutlery and let out a long sigh. Her father regarded him with interest._

"_What is it, my boy?" the elder man inquired, a twinkle in his eyes. "Surely the food is satisfactory?"_

"_I can hide the truth no more," the young man stated, words weighing heavier than his elder's. "I am not of the land you think I am. I was born in the Dark Kingdom, and I am full-blooded dark. I fled at the age of sixteen, deserting everything I was raised to believe because I could find no reason to believe in it. I am sorry for deceiving you all." He stood up quickly, leaving the table and three stunned women, but her father held no such notions._

"_Where exactly do you think you're going?" he asked flatly, watching the younger man as he stopped and turned around. "It's rude to leave the table in the middle of a meal without being excused." Their eyes met; the younger man's were full of confusion._

"_I expect you will be wishing me to leave," he answered. "I am simply helping you by escorting myself out."_

"_Nonsense," her father stated. "Sit back down and finish your meal." Dazed but obliging, the young man sat back down, eyes never leaving his master._

"_Sir, with all due respect -" Her father held up a hand._

"_I'll hear none of it. Where you're from doesn't matter half as much as where you are now. You've proven the sort of man you are already. Now finish your roast or I'll take it as a personal insult to my wife." The puzzled young man picked up his cutlery and did as he was told, silence echoing throughout the room as the trio of women processed this unexpected revelation, and her father pondered the information that had not been wholly unforeseen in his eyes._

* * *

Everything quickly fell back into place in their lives. While Niella and Udonna took this in stride, their mother was wary, but Leanbow's increased dedication to everything they stood for helped placate her. As their father had said, Leanbow's allegiance to the Light only became more obvious in the months that followed. With whispers of uprisings drifting across the borders, he gladly informed her father of all the tactics and training he had acquired during the first sixteen years of his life. Though nothing had yet happened, his insight proved to be invaluable, providing every bit of knowledge he could remember in the hope that it would one day prove necessary.

While life seemed to return to normal, Udonna felt something change within herself. Slowly, she began to realize her deep love for Leanbow. It went beyond the friendship she felt with other young men, though she'd just assumed it to be one of the true, abiding friendships that you find only rarely within a lifetime. She could feel that he harbored the same passion for her that she held for him, despite the fact that neither of them admitted how they felt. They began spending more time with each other than with anyone else; any menial task, usually done by one person, suddenly required both of them. Her family could obviously see how enamored they were with each other, allowing them to be alone when they wanted to be. It was in no way the traditional courting that she had been raised to see as proper, but that made it all the more interesting, even if they weren't open about how they felt.

At the same time, Niella announced that Ambrose had proposed. He had already received her father's blessing beforehand; it was a small surprise to the rest of them. Niella, though, had no idea it was coming. She was intelligent, yes, but always a bit oblivious in her own life.

As they arranged the ceremony, set for May, she and Leanbow found themselves together more and more often, seeking out the proper priest or gathering the flowers to create the archway. It was wonderful, spending so much time with him, but as the wedding drew closer, he began to draw into himself. He stayed up late into the night, often reading or having long talks with her father. He spoke to others less, taking his time not spent preparing for the wedding or training to be alone. Though curious, she was adamant that he would tell her in time. For the time being she simply aided her sister in preparing for the wedding.

Months became weeks, weeks faded into days, days into just one night–a gorgeous spring night, clear skied and warm. Everything was set up in a grand fashion for the next day's event, and all involved were taking a night of rest as a reward and as preparation. She chose to read on her balcony, overlooking the front lawn and open fields. Nothing interrupted her peace, save for a faint click from below.

* * *

_Glancing down, she saw him standing just outside the front door, staring off into the sky. She smiled to herself; surprising him would successfully wrap up her night. Murmuring a teleport spell, she reappeared at his side, but he didn't even flinch._

"_Hello," he greeted quietly, eyes never leaving the horizon. Something seemed wrong, and it made her feel uneasy._

"_Hello," she resounded, touching his arm gently. "What's going on?"_

"_I'm leaving."_

"_What?" she replied blankly, hoping she'd misheard or misunderstood him, though her sinking heart told her otherwise. Finally, he stole a glance at her._

"_I must leave, Udonna. War looms closer every day, and I don't believe I'm fully prepared yet. There is something I still must do before I can fight the darkness, but it cannot be done here."_

"_Where must you go?" He looked back to the horizon, where the last rays of sunlight were dying away below the hills._

"_To the East, into the mountains. I have heard that there is a temple there that may be able to help me." She knew he was being vague to protect her, but she was more than capable of protecting herself._

"_What is it you're going to do?" He shook his head._

"_It is better that you don't know." His tone was of finality, but there was no way he was getting off that easily. She stepped in front of him and took his face in her hands._

"_Tell me," she commanded softly, eyes set upon him with stalwart determination. Finally, he met her emerald orbs, expression serious._

"_I must find my true name." Hearing these words, her heart dropped further into her abdomen, a cold dread encircling it. Knowing and using your true name added great power to your magic, as it was the title of your very being, but very few sought it. The trials and tests to find it were enough to destroy, mentally and physically, those who tried. It was a dangerous journey, and only a few survived._

"_Why? You are strong as it is. Why do something that is so doomed to fail?" she asked plaintively. He watched her, placing his hands on her arms._

"_I must. I do not know why, only that something drives me to do so. Something tells me my life is not to be lived as Koragg." A small smile broke across his face. "Besides, would you be willing to love a man named after a dark king, a man famous for his dirty deals with goblins, for the rest of your life?" She smiled back, taking ahold of his hands._

"_I would love you even if you were named after the Goblin King himself, and his name has forty-six syllables." They shared grins, but a moment later, she was serious again. "So you really are doing this?"_

"_I am. This is of the greatest importance to me."_

"_And there is no persuading you?"_

"_I'm afraid not. I learned stubbornness from a beautiful young girl."_

"_Does Father know about this?"_

"_Yes. I have discussed it with him many times. He believes it is a good idea. 'Any warrior brave enough to face such a task with such honesty and humility shall certainly succeed,' he says. I hope he's right." Udonna nodded. Her father had always been a wise man._

"_Do you know how long you will be gone?" He shook his head._

"_There is no definite time, but I promise you that I will come back. I am much too invested in a life here to leave forever. There are people I could never completely leave behind." She smiled lightly at him, a playful look in her eyes._

"_Do tell." He gave her a mischievous smile, one that sent chills across her body._

"_My lady, I believe you know who I mean." Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers; only barely caught off guard, she quickly regained herself and matched his movements. There they stood, mouths moving furiously against each other in the light of the waxing moon, a warm spring breeze twisting around them. Only when oxygen became necessary did they break apart. Faces flushed, they couldn't help but smile._

"_I will come back."_

"_I'll be here."_

"_Then, for now, this must be goodbye." Again he kissed her, brief and gentle this time, and he was off. She hadn't noticed the sparse pack before, leaning against the side of the cottage, or the heavy coat draped over it, but he took those as he left, the only things he would need in the harsh East. She watched until he disappeared from sight, then returned inside to begin waiting._

* * *

Both she and her father had refrained from telling Niella and Ambrose until after the honeymoon; her mother already knew, and kept the secret as well. Niella tried to comfort her, but it was unnecessary. She kept herself going on the knowledge that he would be back.

A little more than two months later, good news came, though not what Udonna was looking for. Niella was pregnant. The joy rang through their family, and preparations instantly began. Months flew by with no word from him, but Udonna diligently trained in midwifery during the time, and helped the young couple build a cottage of their own.

The moment arrived less than a year after the wedding, and not a moment too soon. Little Clare was born, a tiny girl with a mat of blonde hair and quite the voice. Dutiful sister as she was, she stayed with Niella and Ambrose through the first month, helping care for her newborn niece. She was astounded how well she could function on so little sleep.

Over the months, Clare grew into a rambunctious child, zooming around wherever she happened to be the moment she learned how to crawl. She was like her mother in many ways, causing accidents before she was even six months old and always finding strange ways to cut and scrape herself. She was clumsy, to say the least, but her parents came to watch her very closely, even more so than most new parents.

It was Udonna's day of rest when he returned, collapsing in a field not twenty feet from the tree she was reading under. She felt almost as if she was sixteen again, rescuing the exhausted man from a field of grain and taking him back home. This time, though, seeing him safely home filled her with joy.

Within a day, he was back on his feet, already stronger for the experience. She wanted to see him, but he insisted he not be seen until dinner that night. Obliging, she went back to her duties and waited for dinner.

The hours passed, the butterflies in her stomach tripled, and finally, dinner arrived. When she came downstairs, he was already there, talking animatedly with her father. Upon seeing her, the elder man smiled.

* * *

"_There she is," he said warmly. "The lovely couple is together at last."_

"_What about us?" Niella protested with a faux frown, squeezing Ambrose's hand. Her father just smiled at his elder daughter._

"_You two are just as lovely," he replied. "I guess I ought to choose my words more carefully."_

"_Something I have been saying for years," her mother chimed in, getting a chuckle from her husband._

"_And as always, you are right. As I should have said, the lovely bride-to-be is here." Udonna raised an eyebrow._

"_What do you mean?" Her father gave her a brilliant smile._

"_Only if you accept, of course. This young man here has just asked for your hand in marriage." Everyone in the room smiled suddenly, not expecting this; Udonna's mouth hung agape._

"_And what would this cocksure young man's name be?" she managed. Grinning, the man in question took her hand and stood up._

"_I am known as Leanbow. Pleased to meet you, milady." He kissed her hand, the hint of a grin on his lips. So far, she'd done her best to remain proper, but now she couldn't help herself. She pulled him into a tight hug, which he happily reciprocated._

"_I've missed you," she whispered so only he could hear._

"_It has been too long," he replied. "There were times when I feared I'd never see you again." They came apart, trying to suppress ecstatic smiles and failing._

"_So do you accept?" her father prompted, an eyebrow raised. Her mother just watched, anticipant. Udonna looked to her parents, taking ahold of Leanbow's hand._

"_Absolutely I do."_

* * *

Almost hearkening to the previous year, the following months became a whirlwind of planning. The bride and groom were lucky if they saw each other once a day. Despite that, they had never been happier. Niella and Ambrose were often over with Clare, whose bobbly blonde curls belied her ability to make trouble no matter what she was doing.

The wedding took place on a crisp November day; family and friends from all over the lands attended. That same night, Udonna and Leanbow left for their honeymoon, moving by horse to the ocean in the south, a sight neither had seen this side of the lands. Leanbow had once seen an ocean as a boy, but preferred not to speak of it.

They stayed at a small fishing village on along a beach; a cousin of her mother lived there and gladly let them into her home. On only the second day, before they had left to explore, a young man knocked on their door. He said he was there to inquire about a pair of boots her mother's cousin had requested. When Leanbow told him the woman he sought wasn't there, he profusely apologized, but Udonna stopped him. She invited him in for tea, and he eventually caved.

His name was Lior, and he was the village cobbler. He was a few years older than either of them; as soft-spoken as he was, he was quite perky as well. Over the next week, they got to know him better, fast friends despite having just met. It was inexplicable, how well they all got along; looking back, she could see the signs of destiny in motion. He was a gifted seer, even then, and a water element. At the time, though, he was just a friend they'd made unbelievably quickly on their honeymoon.

When it came time for them to leave, she was sad to go, but not quite as sad as she thought she would be. Some part of her knew this wouldn't be the last time they met.

The following months were bliss to be sure–Niella and Ambrose were often around their cottage, causing mayhem and fun along with ever-growing and troublesome Clare, who was just beginning to walk. They enjoyed every minute of it while they still could, as they knew war was coming. Leanbow even took on two apprentices, studious Calindor and brash Daggeron. Both were promising warriors, and sought to become knights. Udonna's father had deferred them to Leanbow, who was only a few years their senior but already knighted by his father-in-law. He took them on apprehensively, doubtful of his ability to teach.

Right before the fighting broke out, two people arrived on their homestead, within a week of one another. Lior was first, driven by incessant dreams telling him to go there. Polite as ever, he begged their pardon for intruding, but it was of great importance. He didn't know why, but he knew coming to them was something he had to do. They allowed their friend of only half a year in without question, knowing that such a gifted psychic was rarely wrong. In such troubling times, it was good to see an old friend again.

Elouan arrived five days later. Really, he wandered onto their land while Udonna was entertaining Clare in the gardens. He seemed distraught, lost, and she invited him inside without a thought. It took three cups of tea to wake him up, but when he did, he couldn't stop talking. He was a traveler, a potion-master, wandering the lands and helping those who needed him. On his way through the mountains, he was attacked by a horde of undead that had just finished up a hamlet. He'd only barely escaped, teleporting away in the nick of time, and he didn't even know where he was. His arrival truly ushered in the beginning of the war.

Elouan stayed with them as they started preparations for war. He was not only a potion-master but a brilliant chef, spending hours over the fireplace brewing new elixirs and drafts, and experimenting with meals. Despite his nomadic ways, he settled into the domestic life well. Udonna was surprised at his ease around complete strangers in the beginning, but it was soon apparent that it was simply the kind of person he was. He would talk to anyone and anything, words spewing rapid-fire out of his mouth like he'd die if they didn't all get out in time. She often had to ask him to repeat himself, only slower.

Lior seemed to be his opposite. On the right subject, he could talk for hours, but his words were always deliberate and well thought out. Rarely did he get over exuberant. By no means was he a recluse within the group, though. He often participated within conversations, mostly listening and throwing in a thought or joke occasionally. There was rarely a time when he was out of the main room; he was always reading a book or working on a pair of shoes. Sometimes he would simply stare into a dish of water or a crystal, trying to find meaning behind his persistent dreams. Night in and night out, they plagued him, but he would tell them nothing, not until he knew what they meant.

A few months passed this way; Elouan nearly filled their potion cabinet with clever concoctions; Lior made some headway with his findings, while at the same time discovering a love for painting, especially vistas of the ocean he so sorely missed; Ambrose forged new weapons for the battles ahead, swords and spears, axes and crossbows, all made to fit the branch of its user; Leanbow busied himself with gathering an army while still training Calindor and Daggeron. Life was chaotic and unreasonable sometimes, but she didn't mind.

Amidst the chaos, tragedy struck. Her mother died in those intermediary months, passing the mantle of Gatekeeper onto Niella. Death was not hard to accept, especially as reports of undead strikes on villages came in every day, but no one was ready for something closer to home. For three days, all preparations ceased, taking time to mourn her.

It was hard on everyone, even those who hadn't been there long, for she was a dynamic and warm woman, but Niella felt the most weight. She had not only lost her mother, but gained a dangerous position in the war. If their intel was correct, then the Gatekeeper would be a highly sought after commodity among the dark legions. According to sources across the lands, the dark leaders had been stirring up rebellion for years, urging their people the break the unspoken peace between the two lands and crush their enemies. To do so, it was said that they needed their full might, and for that they needed the Gates of the Underworld to be opened. With that, they could save time in recruiting and raising new soldiers; an army of the damned sat before them.

Perhaps it was fate that Cordula arrived that week. Her family had been driven from their home, and they had been wandering for a few weeks. She had heard of their cause from Phineas, and something had compelled her to part from her loved ones and join their army. With no idea where the forces were massing, she had followed the troblin's vague instruction to Udonna and Leanbow's home, the base of operations for the armies of light. Gladly, they welcomed her in, unable to turn away someone so clearly driven there by fate. They were beginning to accept that when someone showed up on their doorstep, brought by some unknown compulsion, they were supposed to be there.

Cordula brought a special levity to their growing group. Lior talked more, Elouan quieted himself more often–even Leanbow, under great pressure to lead the armies of light, smiled more often. There was something calming about the young woman, even when you weren't talking to her. She could simply be in the room, sewing or cleaning, though she loved the former like no other, and everything seemed better.

As it happened to be, she and Elouan had been childhood friends, and they had a dynamic all their own. Oftentimes, they could be found within feet of each other, simply talking or going about their usual work. They just seemed to function better around the other. Once, Udonna found the pair in the gardens, Elouan playing a lute and Cordy (as he called her) singing a light, cheerful tune while stitching up one of his shirts. They were unlikely friends, to say the least–calm, lighthearted Cordula, and eccentric, energetic Elouan–but they balanced one another perfectly. Cordula knew how to calm him and how to deal with his eccentricities; he could make her smile no matter what and helped her to do more than just help others constantly.

It was soon after her arrival that Lior had an epiphany. With everyone gathered at the dinner table (a rare feat with nine adults and one child to assemble at once), he finally let them in on what he had been researching for months.

* * *

"_I believe we are the chosen ones," he stated, drawing more than a few curious looks. "Those in prophecies that shall face and destroy the uprising darkness." For a moment, everyone stopped eating and just looked at him, each gauging his seriousness._

"_Do you really believe so?" Leanbow finally asked, setting his silverware down. The dark-haired young man nodded._

"_There is little doubt in my mind. We each follow a specific branch, and we have all been driven together by forces we cannot explain." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "In my dreams, I see seven of us fighting in the most epic battle our world has seen since the Schism. Daggeron is not there, but off protecting a precious commodity that I cannot see. I know not where Calindor is, but I feel it is part of our larger destiny, wherever he may be. In the battle, we are fighting the complete legions of darkness. I'm not sure, but I believe the Gates may be compromised." Niella raised an eyebrow, a bit disturbed but believing. What Lior saw was rarely wrong._

"_So you think they've found a way to open them on their own?" she asked, more than a little fearful. Lior shook his head._

"_I don't know. I cannot see the whole of the battle, but I fear that it will last longer than we expect, and the toll will be steep, steeper than we believe."_

"_Why do you say that?" Leanbow inquired. As their leader, he felt a responsibility to the family of every soldier, and to that extent, hearing that many would die was painful._

"_I can see the Mystic Force, many years from now, still fighting our enemies, though the faces of these warriors are obscured. I am certain that their leader is Leanbow, though–he has the same build and ferocity. As for the rest of us, I am less sure. Their Gatekeeper is a blonde, that I can tell, and their Solaris Knight is of the same build as Daggeron, but the other details are hazy. All I am certain of is that many years from now, this war will still be fought, and it will be fought by the Mystic Force."_

"_So, if we truly are they, how shall we know?" Calindor asked, setting down his book for the first time. He always read at dinner; there was hardly a time when he wasn't reading._

"_I don't know," Lior replied with a shake of his head. "I believe that when the time is right, we will know the truth."_


	3. Predecessors II

_A/N_ - Thought I ought to get my butt in gear and type the other half of this. I'm doing my best to clean up the canon I've created, and to that extent, I edited the prologue of CoD so it better fits in with the timeline I've established, or will be establishing in this chapter. (Yay for rambling!)

Anyway, to the story. I promise that I'm working as much as I can on CoL without forcing it, so enjoy this until then. And sorry for the tremendous wait you guys have endured. Let's just say that life is very busy right now, and leave it at that.

* * *

Life went on after Lior's revelation. It changed little in their lives, save for the importance of their work. Training seemed much more crucial now, as did making more weapons, mixing new potions and acquiring artifacts that could otherwise be used against them. Something about this single fact changed the way they viewed their battles, their preparations; now, two worlds rested on their shoulders.

Still, they carried on. Elouan occasionally lost an eyebrow to an experimental brew; Lior illustrated the books that Calindor kept; Leanbow assembled more troops and trained his two apprentices; Cordula stitched all the rips and patched all the burned holes Elouan managed to accumulate, plus the less frequent tears from the others; Ambrose forged as many weapons as he could for the growing army, and trained them from time to time; Niella did her best to train, stay under the radar and keep adventurous Clare in line, sometimes all at once; Udonna tried to keep everyone and everything running smoothly while training herself and a small regiment of soldiers.

Time passed with little change. There were a few skirmishes, but they always came back relatively unscathed. Between battles, training and trying to avoid the rampant magic around them, life had almost become routine. That, of course, was why two new influences appeared amongst the normalcy.

Fergus was first. Sitting among the handful of victims that always gathered in the camps after a battle, he was perfectly calm, if not a bit bloodied. Most victims were trembling or crying, if not both, but he barely moved, only staring into space. Udonna moved to his side first, and quietly asked if he needed any help. He gave no response, and wouldn't, no matter what questions she asked. When it became apparent that talking to him was a lost cause, she finally checked him for wounds and moved onto another victim. They helped many more of the wounded while he simply sat, knees against his chest, eyes lost in some other world.

After a few days, most victims left, but not Fergus. He stayed around, helping with salves and meals–after the first day, of course. Still he wouldn't speak, but he now replied with shakes of his head. At this point, none of them knew his name, where he was from, or why he wouldn't speak. They trusted him, though; he seemed to be a good enough person.

Even when they finally arrived back at their base of operations, being Udonna and Leanbow's home, he stayed. He took over their gardens almost immediately, and they let him. Never had the plants seemed so alive.

Eventually, he began speaking, though only in one or two words. His name was Fergus, he was from the North, and he had no family. The last fact was hard to pry from him, and he refused to talk for days after. From then on, they let the subject be, hoping he would open up when the time came.

Despite his silence, he fit in with them surprisingly well. Much of his time was spent either in the gardens, tending to the plants, or in the common room, whittling and carving away. He produced marvelous works, many of which he gave away to the village children and Clare, who loved playing with the small birds he fashioned.

Fergus' presence, loved as it was, only presented a new problem: their current home was becoming far too crowded. It routinely housed ten adults, and one toddler, when it was only meant for, at a maximum, four. They were anything but demure, as well; a special brand of chaos followed them around, and it was only magnified by such close quarters.

The second new arrival came then, just as the small space was about to burst. Unlike all the others, this visitor had the ability and care to announce their arrival ahead of time. Udonna was the recipient of the dreams this time, each night seeing a young man dressed entirely in white approaching her through a wintry field. His face was obscured, but there was a hint of familiarity to him. She conferred with Lior on the subject, as he had more than a little experience with prophetics; he advised her to let this man come to her, rather than actively seek him out, as he seemed to be the only one moving in the dreams. Following his counsel, she allowed days to pass, dreams to continue, until, finally, the man in white arrived.

* * *

_The heavy knocks that reverberated through the dining room gave each person pause, even tiny Clare. For a second, most pondered who it could be, and then Udonna stood up._

"_Whomever it may be, it would be unkind to leave them waiting," she said, picking up her skirts to maneuver around the crowded table. She reached the door after a moment, pulling it open with little thought. Instantly, her breath was stolen by the man, dressed in a striking cloak of white. It was the Snow Prince, immortal son of the Ancient of Snow and Ice, Cias, and earthly representative of his mother, Udonna's patron Ancient. The single functioning cell in her brain at the moment commented on the sudden sense her familiarity with him made._

_To say that she was surprised was an understatement. She moved her mouth, but no words would come out. Her hand gripped the door handle, knuckles appropriately white, as he smiled slightly at her. She knew she must have looked like a fish struggling for air, but at least she wasn't flailing about. Yet._

"_Hello, Udonna," he said pleasantly, as if he wasn't a demigod standing in her doorway and they were in fact old friends. "I don't believe we've formally met, but I take it you know who I am." Finally, words seemed to unclog themselves in her throat._

"_Snow Prince," she managed. "I-I wasn't aware..." Again, he smiled._

"_And for that, I'm sorry. My dream projection skills are a bit rustier than I'd like to admit. I don't often visit Mother's followers." Udonna smiled nervously, quite aware of this fact. A visit from the Snow Prince was always of great importance, and only happened when the Ancients had integral information to pass on but couldn't appear themselves. It signaled either a physical object to be passed on or a long stay that any Ancient could not make, being stuck as corporeal beings so long as their magic was to exist. To that extent, it had always been the job of the Snow Prince, stuck between divinity and humanity, to act as an ambassador between the two._

_She must have been staring, for he raised his eyebrows, smile broadening. Realizing how rude she was being, she stepped back._

"_I'm so sorry," she said, a blush rising to her cheeks as she ushered him inside. "Won't you please come in?"_

"_I'd be delighted," he replied, moving past her and shrugging off his cloak. Udonna shut the door and followed him into the dining room, where nine astonished adults eyes were suddenly on their guest; Calindor was the only one to remain as he was, eyes trained on the pages of yet another book._

"_Please, sit down. We were just having dinner," Leanbow invited, maintaining his ability to speak much better than his wife had. The Snow Prince nodded graciously, taking the seat that Udonna had pulled from another room and joining them in the space made for him at the table._

"_Thank you. I am sorry for interrupting your meal, by the way." The leader accepted this apology with a nod and a small smile, but someone else beat him to talking._

"_So why are you here?" Calindor asked flatly, eyes never leaving his book._

"_Cal!" Cordula exclaimed, only vague sternness in her words. "Don't be so rude."_

"_Show respect," Fergus added. The blonde man reacted with the barest of shrugs._

"_I'm simply getting to the point. I don't think he stopped by for dinner and some friendly conversation."_

"_He is right, though I can always hope for the latter," the man in question added, with a slight grin on his lips. Udonna set a fresh plate of food before him, which he gratefully accepted despite his actual need for food._

"_You all present good points," Leanbow said, glancing to Calindor pointedly before looking back to the Snow Prince. "To what do we owe this honor?" The perpetually young man sat up straighter, looking to everyone at the table, even infant Clare._

"_Mother, along with a few others, has quite a bit to say. Before all else, we all must thank you for everything you have done against the darkness. It is a difficult position to have thrust upon you, but you have all acted valiantly. We truly cannot thank you enough." Leanbow held up a hand; such praise was good to hear, but not necessary._

"_We are glad that what we do pleases you, but we do not require accolades when we know we are working for the betterment of two worlds. We simply do what we must to ensure the future of the light."_

"_And yet you deserve all the accolades we can bestow. Your paths are noble, if not troubled, and that is why I am here," the Snow Prince responded earnestly._

"_To thank us?" Daggeron asked skeptically, an eyebrow quirked. His master shot him a warning look; the knight-in-training looked away abashedly. The Snow Prince remained stoic, if not a bit bemused._

"_I appreciate your incredulity. Not many will question me aloud. Your reaction is not without merit, either. I have more than that to say. First, though, I believe something has been weighing on the mind of Fergus." The young man, though second only in age to Leanbow and Ambrose, looked up sharply. Very rarely was he addressed to speak, as he seldom had much to say. What the Snow Prince said was true, though–there was something he was pondering, and now was as good a time as any._

"_We need a new base," he said simply. Even if he was speaking of his own volition, he wanted it to be short and sweet, without all the pomp and flowery language. "There are too many of us in this house. More room is necessary. A place in the woods would be best. They are vast and confusing to the untrained. The armies of darkness would have difficulty finding it." Leanbow nodded, seeing the merit in his friend's proposition._

"_What sort of fortress do you propose we build in the forest?"_

"_One to blend in. A large tree. As large as the oldest trees, and larger on the inside." The leader raised his eyebrows._

"_You think we could build such a tree?"_

"_Not build. Grow." Now everyone seemed impressed, if not a bit apprehensive, save for the Snow Prince._

"_And you believe you can do this?" Leanbow questioned. The Earth Warrior nodded once._

"_Viscan will help."_

"_That is true," the Snow Prince interjected. "He wishes to send his blessing and any assistance you need." Leanbow smiled thankfully._

"_We shall begin as soon as possible," he said. Silence lapsed around them for a moment, only the clink of cutlery and flipping of pages piercing it, while the Snow Prince took a slow sip of his wine. He savored it, smiling as he set his goblet down._

"_Very good. Your own blend, I suppose?" The dark-haired leader grinned; not all praise was off limits, and their wine was something they were all proud of._

"_Of course. A group effort to create, I assure you, and not without its trials, but we are quite pleased with how it turned out." In fact, it had been their first effort as a full team, and it had certainly taken all the coordination and skill they had. To say it was continual chaos wouldn't be nearly descriptive enough–it was chaos and joy and realization and dependence and pure art, often all at once. Somehow, between grape fights, fermented wine not mixing well with a freshness-sustaining potion and Elouan being chased by a swarm of angry bees, they managed to create something that was anything but a disaster, and learned a little bit about how they worked with one another._

"_I applaud your work," the Snow Prince replied, but his smile didn't last long. "Unfortunately, your growing camaraderie is not why I am here. We must discuss the Mystic Force."_

* * *

Dinner, unfortunately, only spiraled down from there. They were disheartened, to say the least, to learn that they were not the fabled Mystic Force, but it was vaguely uplifting to know that the next generation was; they were at least assured that the war with darkness would end in their conceivable lifetimes. Lior repeatedly apologized for misleading them, but the Snow Prince finally ended that reminding him that with visions, constant, complete accuracy was rare. He also assured them that they were laying the foundations for the Mystic Force and the final battles.

By this point, dinner had ended; that was to say, most had stopped eating. Calindor still crunched on an apple, attention divided between his book and the Snow Prince, while little Clare chewed on a celery stick.

One last thing had to be discussed: training. The Snow Prince lauded Leanbow for taking on two apprentices in addition to training and leading the army of Light, and then made an unprecedented offer: to help train everyone, both in combat and magic. It was a stunning offer, which they graciously and unanimously accepted. Pleased, the Snow Prince informed them that he had to leave, but assured that he would be back soon with more news and prepared to begin training.

True to his word, he returned a week later, this time to stay. The days rolled on from there, a haze of battles, training, making plans, scouting locations and the general heyday of their lives. Clare tripped into one of Elouan's half-finished potions and emerged with tusks, which prompted them to make a hasty patchwork counter potion; Fergus was found hanging upside-down by his feet in the gardens, in the hold of an out-of-control new crossbreed of fern; Daggeron accidentally set fire to Calindor's miniature fortress of books testing a new spell; Niella blew the roof off of the cottage doing the same. Peace wasn't something they often saw, and their chances of that were about to lessen dramatically.

She was pregnant. Niella cheered when she found out, while Cordula hugged her; Fergus just smiled. Leanbow most of all couldn't wait. He treasured the idea of a child, a young one to teach and play with. She knew he wanted to prove that he was not his own father, a man who was merciless in his training and distant in his affection, at least from the little she knew. Instantly, she was no longer allowed on the battlefield, and she had to fight just to be on the sidelines, helping the wounded. Being completely sat out was unthinkable to her. At the very least, she wanted to be there when it was over, helping her friends and family. Leanbow eventually wore down and allowed her to, at least until the last month or so. This small caveat was fine with her, so long as she wasn't back home knitting socks and cleaning house for nine months.

In the mean time, she had found a new past time: researching ancient prophecies. It was more fascinating than it sounded, especially when she knew what some of it meant. Many verses spoke of the Mystics she knew now, and many more told of the fabled Saints of Magic, the saviors of the light from a world devoid of goodness or magic. Knowing they were the next generation was only the tip of the iceberg; the more she read, the more she came to believe that her own child would take part in this coming war.

One particular set of prophecies told of a dark phoenix, the child of contradictory origins, who would be raised by the light despite his dark beginnings. Though it was all speculation on her part, it gained credence as the months went on. Lior told her of a new vision he'd received, one showing her holding a baby boy in her arms, Leanbow at her side, but he also added that she should be wary, for he also saw the boy in the arms of another. She took his warning seriously, though she continued her work at home and behind the lines.

The months passed as they normally would–skirmishes and battles were fought, their new base began its accelerated growth, she studied more prophecies. Aside from her increasingly bulging belly, it was all normal. The Snow Prince trained them all in more advanced spells, but took her aside more often, being of the same element. Once, he gave her no lesson, only an entirely unexpected gift: the Snow Staff, once wielded by Cias herself. It had changed form over the years to accommodate the user, but it remained in essence the same weapon the Snow Ancient herself had fought with. All he told her was that she would need it to 'protect her family.' After that, he'd left, receiving an urgent summons from the Ancients. She marveled over simply being given such a precious artifact, let alone being trusted to wield its unknown powers.

Less than a month later, during a huge battle and without warning, her water broke. Six hours of labor later, and with the battle over, she gave birth to a son, Bowen. Almost passed out but completely overjoyed, she held her baby close as Leanbow teleported them home.

The residence only became more raucous with a new baby, and Clare speaking full sentences rapid-fire, not to mention Elouan accidentally dropping an entire expansion potion into their would-be dinner stew and flooding the house with broth and vegetables. The walls smelled like beef for weeks, and it was more than a month before anyone was in the mood for soup again.

Not all of the insanity was good, though. During a battle, Leanbow went missing. Several times before, he had disappeared, only to be found fighting an hour or two later; this time was different. This time, he didn't return at all. After a day, they all became worried, and after several more, she employed the strongest scrying spell she could. It continued for days, always tugging at the back of her mind, alongside the worry that never left. The entire group helped, worrying about their leader, though not to her extent. Lior spent hours meditating and searching the psychic realms for any information, but came up with only a few tidbits: he was not in Ganefel or Tel' Evarista, and he was physically unharmed. Calindor and Daggeron led search parties, while Ambrose temporarily took over the army. Niella did her best to keep her sister healthy, and Cordula did the same. Elouan and Fergus, with no other duties to manage, tried to maintain the household and keep everyone in order, a tall order for the pair.

Over a week passed, searching extended through day and night; the others offered her reprieve often, noticing her lack of sleep and almost mechanical of performing all other tasks, save for caring for Bowen. One morning, after being forced to sleep, her cries of rage echoed throughout the household. In the night, Bowen had been taken away. While they all expected her to cry over this, she didn't shed a single tear. She only became steely, the darker side of her element emerging. She didn't talk, didn't sleep, didn't eat. She ignored the others' pleas to rest or relent, if only for a moment. Only finding her family would soften her now, and that was her single-minded goal through the rest of that tortuous week.

Finally, in the middle of the night, she felt it: the surge of power in the back of her mind that meant the spell had achieved its purpose. She imagined that she'd never moved faster, scrambling from her bedroom, where she'd been forced to lie down, to the crystal ball that had once been her mother's, now residing in the library.

Within the swirling golden depths lay the image of her Leanbow, in bed next to a woman she vaguely recognized. She didn't know this mystery woman's name, but she knew where she had seen her: the battlefield, fighting for the darkness. She prompted for any more images, and only one appeared–the image of Leanbow and this woman, sitting on the grass outside of a cottage, the woman cradling a baby in her arms. The woman laughed as Leanbow cooed over the baby that wasn't hers, and then she called him the one thing Udonna never thought she'd hear again: Koragg.

Before she could realize what she was doing, she was out of the library, gathering everything she could think of needing. Only Elouan, who kept strange hours as it was, and Calindor, engrossed in a book, saw her haste, fueled by the fury and determination burning in her heart. She didn't say a word to either of them, only working purposefully away before leaving, one packed-to-the-brim bag in hand.

She traveled for several days, following only her intuition, the tugging in every fiber of her being toward her family, until she finally found them on the edge of a village. Before she even confronted them, she needed to get close, to see what was really going on. Opportunity struck soon: both were called away to war, and needed a nurse for Bowen. Using a powerful glamour, she changed her appearance (as the dark witch would undoubtedly recognize her) and dispatched all other candidates she felt were opposition to her. She knew it wasn't right, but she was doing it to dark sorceresses, in the dark lands, to save her family. Surely that contained merit enough to excuse her actions. She felt no remorse, knowing they would have done far worse to her had they had the chance. In the end, nothing would stop her from getting back the two people she cared about most.

* * *

"_What sort of magic do you practice?" the dark witch asked. She was seated across from Udonna, keeping a trained eye on her throughout the interview (interrogation) process._

"_Ice," she replied stoically. So far, she had done well, or at least she thought she had. She retained a calm exterior, answering each question with just enough repression to seem collected, but not mechanical._

_Akaia, as she learned the other witch's name was, nodded appreciatively._

"_A rare branch, but powerful," she said. "You are a full-fledged sorceress, right?"_

"_Of course. I trained for years to be where I am now."_

"_Good. I want nothing less than the best for my son." Udonna's chest clenched at those words, a pure fire burning in her. It was her son, her husband, not this conniving sorceress', and it made her resolve all the steelier. "Are you willing to go to any length to protect Nickolaus?" _Bowen_, she mentally corrected, through gritted teeth if that was possible._

"_Nothing in this world or the next could stop me from protecting him," she stated, and Akaia had no idea exactly how true that was. A slow, curved smile spread over the dark witch's lips, painted a sharp red in contrast to her pale skin._

"_Then I believe you are exactly who we've been looking for," she said. Udonna smiled in a similar fashion, having perfected the cold and cruel expressions expected of a dark witch, and followed her rival to another room to finalize their partnership._

* * *

After a quick lesson on how to take care of Bowen (as if she didn't already know), Akaia and Leanbow left, and she was finally alone with her child again. She was tempted to go with the boy now, but she knew she still had to save Leanbow. Through the week, she persevered and planned, watching the battles through her scrying crystal. Without Leanbow, Ambrose had been left in charge of the armies of Light, and though he was a Fortean magician, he was less of a fighter, though not in talent, but in preference. Despite that, he had still led their forces to victory in most of the battles, only retreating once in the hopes of protecting the troops from a massacre.

After a week of carefully preparing, Udonna was ready for Akaia when she and Leanbow returned. While she relished the time she had to spend with her baby boy, who recognized and clung to her within minutes of being reunited, she was eager to enact her plan and return to the normalcy of her life in the Light. The Dark chilled her when she let her guard down.

When they returned, they retained her services, as more of a precaution for when they inevitably returned to war, and because Bowen seemed so attached to her. Their presence made it more difficult for her, having to retain her dark facade, but for her family she held out. Her plans were near enough to fruition that faltering now would be idiocy.

All it took was one messenger, an enchanted young boy, to relay a message to the dark witch: she was wanted in the general's court immediately. She took off without hesitation, knowing that anything but her prompt appearance would warrant her death, and leaving Leanbow and Bowen with Udonna.

As soon as Akaia had ridden out of sight, she began the counterspells, weaving them silently around and through Leanbow's mind. The memory alterations were a tightly bound web around his consciousness, permeating even the most powerfully embedded memories. Her spells came swiftly and frequently, but with subtle power so he would not notice.

By the end of the night, she was nearing exhaustion, but the effects of her incessant spellwork were becoming visible. Leanbow, who was usually content to read a book until he was tired, kept giving her small glances that he probably thought she couldn't notice. She continued her needlework with false ignorance, rocking Bowen's cradle in between stitches and weaving more and more counterspells. Finally, he excused himself to bed, giving her reason to smile. Spells were easier to thread through an unconscious mind. She waited until she was sure he was asleep, cast one last, large spell, and put Bowen to bed before resigning herself to sleep.

Early the next morning, when she awoke to assuage a crying Bowen, she found Leanbow staring into the fire, eyes stormy. When she spoke, she could only pray to Cias for the words she hoped to hear.

* * *

"_How long have we known each other?" he asked quietly, not looking away from the dancing embers. She held a bottle to Bowen's small lips, but didn't even steal a glance at him._

"_No more than two weeks, sir, surely." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him nodding._

"_That is what I thought," he murmured, "but something tells me it has been much, much longer." In a sudden, fluid twist, he was looking at her. "I feel as if my life now is but a dream, and my dreams are my reality." The intensity in his eyes filled her chest with lighter than air anticipation, but she remained impassive._

"_And where do your dreams roam, sir? Perhaps they are preferable to life now," she said lightheartedly, but he did not smile; he only watched her intently._

"_It is strange," he said. "In my dreams, I have defected to the Light as a boy_, _and now lead their forces in this very war."_

"_Quite strange indeed." Her reaction was all but automatic now; she was plotting her final move. His mind was on the cusp of Light and Dark again. It just needed that little push._

"_Beyond that, though, is the strangest piece of all," he continued, oblivious to her automation. "In these dreams, I have married a woman who quite resembles you, and together we have had a child, a son named Bowen." With animal-like speed, he was at her side; gently, she lowered Bowen into his bassinet. When she stood up, he clamped his hands on her shoulders with immovable firmness and turned her to face him. His eyes crackled and flickered with the fire of his mind and her magic_, _and his closeness after all this time sent her heart into unwarranted flutters._

"Cara veris_," he murmured. The shivers of power rolled over her as his spell peeled away her glamour. His eyes grew wide as she watched him stoically. Wheels turned inside his mind, but not quickly enough; she had to act now. Akaia would without a doubt feel the power brimming in this room. Weaving the spell gracefully, the power poured over her lips; she pulled him into a kiss._ _His shock and surprise quickly became acceptance; acceptance, realization;_ _realization, joy; joy, passion, a passion that he had been withholding for months. Now, he was free of the magic, and lost himself in the moment with the wife he truly loved. She fought the urge to lose herself as well, and a peek revealed the white sparkles of her magic fading around his face as he moved his hands to her cheeks. Smiling, she broke away, knowing there would be plenty of time for that later._

"_Udonna," he whispered, savoring the name on his tongue like honey. "My Udonna." The combination of her name and his voice made her shiver._

"_Leanbow," she said. "It had been far too long."_

"_Yes, Leanbow," added a sneering voice from the doorway, "far too long."_

_Udonna instantly tensed, pushing Leanbow away with the simple order to get Bowen. Wand out in a flash, she approached her dark nemesis. Leanbow's hesitant steps could be heard leaving the room, making Akaia smirk._

"_I see you've moved in on my new family," she remarked, fingering her own wand._

"_Nothing you haven't done first," Udonna replied._

"_I don't intend to lose them quite as easily as you did," Akaia sneered back. Her comment only served_ _as a bellows to the fire of Udonna's unequivocal hatred._

"_They were stolen from me. I will not let it happen again."_

"_Then prove yourself, White Witch, for I will not relinquish them in this life. Only my death will free your family."_

_Udonna steeled herself, hand wrapped around the Snow Staff, which had become a sword, and replied, "As you wish."_

* * *

Their fight raged fiercely, both women equally adept with magic and swords. Spells, curses and hexes flew between the witches, demolishing pieces of the cottage as the target spun or ducked to avoid it. Soon, light streamed around them as easily inside as it did outside. Leanbow wisely stayed away, feeling the need to fight but knowing he needed more to protect Bowen.

After time that could have been minutes or hours, one woman stood over the other, victorious. Udonna pressed her blade to Akaia's throat, offering life, albeit bound without magic in a land over the seas. Akaia refused, a dagger materializing in her hand. She plunged it into her own heart, dying swiftly as blood bubbled from her mouth.

With nothing she could do for an enemy who would accept no mercy, she wearily found Leanbow and Bowen, kissed each one, and teleported home. It had never seemed quite as inviting as it had in that moment, when they appeared to find all of their friends waiting for them. Lior, apparently, had foreseen their return and had everyone prepare accordingly. They found their room made up especially well, filled with clean clothes, new books and fresh food. Needless to say, this time was taken to rest.

Peace was not total, though. They were still at war and they were needed. Within days, they were back to their old ways, going over prophecies and battle plans. Fresh intel came nearly every day; it seemed the Darkness was planning something huge. Piece by piece, they learned what was happening, until it finally came together: they were planning one final, all-out assault. Every unit was moving toward the ancient Castle Reyus, once the seat of power in the Light kingdom. Even Morticon and his creator were rumored to be there. Within days, they would march into the lands of Light and launch their crowning attack.

That left them as they were now, preparing every battalion, every troop, for the predicted battle, for the final fight of this war. Watching her friends and family bustle about, each doing what they did best, she couldn't shake the foreboding feeling crawling up her spine. This battle would not end well, she knew, but it had to be fought. Fought for her friends, her family, for the worlds over that wouldn't even know about it. They had to fight, regardless of the consequences. All of this world rested on them.


	4. Hunt

A/N: I know, I know, I should be working on Children of Light. I just had to get this idea out of my system. One less plot bunny bouncing around to deal with, right? Writing hasn't come easy in the last few weeks, but I'm trying. Really, I am. Work and summer classes, not to mention being in charge of the day-to-day running of my house while my dad is away for work... Ugh. Anyway, this is just a little idea I alluded to in an earlier chapter of CoL. On an unrelated note, I just saw Xander in a Budweiser commercial. Bizarre. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Patience was not a strong suit for Chip Thorn, but he was doing his best. All the necessary work was done, all the waiting, watching and practicing. He'd been patient long enough; all he had to do was wait a little longer. He just needed to wait for his moment, and he knew that would be lost if he got jumpy now. He had to remind himself of all the good he was doing, assuming he could just be patient. After all, he was here to kill a vampire.

Never mind that his uncle didn't know he'd left the house to go on this hunt, or the fact that he'd be dead tired at school the next day. Vida and Xander would make fun of him, but he'd have the last laugh because tomorrow he'd be a badass vampire hunter.

Crouched in a doorway along a shadowy alley, he allowed his dark cloak, standard COUNTV issue, to help him melt into the post-midnight darkness. His favorite compound bow clutched in one white-knuckled hand, he did his best to focus and keep an eagle eye on the alley. He'd done the research, correlated reports and tracked the ethereal trails, and knew that this vamp walked this way every night after leaving a club and before finding a new victim to drain. It was all a matter of waiting until he left tonight's club and then dusting him, Buffy style.

Well, he assumed they dusted. The manual in his official COUNTV membership kit hadn't exactly specified what happened after you killed a vampire, but it also didn't include a section on disposing of the body, so it had to disappear somehow. Besides, Joss Whedon wouldn't lie to him, would he?

Focus. He had to focus. This was possibly the most important moment of his life; he couldn't screw it up. Tonight would determine the course of his vampire hunting career, and maybe even his whole life. Destiny could be set into motion any moment now, just like when Obi-Wan gave Luke his father's lightsaber. He was going to be the hero he always knew he could be, and he was determined to get it right.

The barest echo of footsteps caught his attention, banishing any other thoughts. A layperson on the street would've attributed the light sound to a cat, or even their imagination, but any studied vampire hunter knew it could just as easily be a vamp. His senses went on high alert, watching the end of the alley with an unwavering focus he rarely managed.

Sure enough, a tall man sauntered around the corner, footfalls making so little noise it wasn't hard to imagine that he was gliding. Chip's body tensed, one hand drifting to his quiver absently. It was like hunting the coyotes that attacked chickens on the farm, only a thousand times more dangerous and nerve-wracking. As the vampire's dark eyes took in every inch of the alleyway, Chip silently thanked COUNTV for his cloak and the tips on masking his scent; without either of those, he'd be dead by now, no doubt. The monster ambled closer, and it took all of Chip's reserve not to throw himself at the creature, not to mention his heroic glory, right now. He had to wait for the best shot, even if the anticipation was killing him.

After all, this was the culmination of everything he'd hoped for in his life. He was going to be a hero, a warrior in the fight against evil. Like every superhero, he had his defining tragedy, too: his parents and sister had died when his house burned down nearly a decade ago. Just thinking about them made his chest tighten with loss, but it only served to strengthen his resolve. He'd be a hero, like Batman, and make his family proud. The world would know that being a Thorn meant you were strong, meant you persevered no matter what and fought until the end. His parents would be proud of the hero he was going to become.

This was the defining moment every protagonist had, when they stopped being an ordinary person and became a hero. He was tired of being ordinary—fourteen years old, working on the farm, going to school every day—but now that could all change. Now, he would become legendary.

The vamp was close now, so Chip notched an arrow as quietly as he could. Any second now. Just a few feet closer. He drew the bow to full tension, lining up the shaft with the vampire's heart.

He was going to be like Van Helsing.

Jonathon Harker.

Buffy.

He readjusted his grip ever so slightly.

Any second now...

The vamp was in perfect range.

His heart suddenly thudded against his ribcage. Destiny was waiting for him. Now or never. This was it. He released the arrow with a soft 'thwip.'

That's when it all went to hell.

The vamp's eyes snapped to Chip's own, somehow meeting the blue pair through the darkness. A hand snapped up imperceptibly and snatched the arrow out of the air, breaking it in half with a snarl. The teenage hunter barely had time to process this before the monster was on him, an unbelievably strong hand wrapping around his throat. Now that Chip could see him up close, his adrenaline levels skyrocketed—the vamp's eyes were pure black, brimming with a hypnotic emptiness that seemed to dance with a hint of flames. Dread settled in the young hunter's chest as a set of fangs slid out, glistening in the flickering street light.

A beat passed as they stared at each other, Chip struggling to breathe, and then he was flying through the air, tossed like unwanted trash into a wall. Everything exploded to white, pain overtaking his every thought; he managed to weakly push himself up before the hand was back around his neck, lifting him off the ground and knocking his hood down. The vampire's eyes widened a fraction, and then a grin settled over his face, but it was more predatory than jovial.

"You're just a child," he chuckled, obviously enjoying the way the young man struggled in futility. Despite the fresh surge of terror he felt when he glanced to those porcelain white fangs, Chip attempted to find a way, any way, out of this situation, or at least the constricting grip around his throat. He'd messed up somehow, and big time; there had to be some detail he'd overlooked, some pages of the manual that were stuck together. That, he could go over later. Now, he just wanted to make it out of here alive, which seemed less likely with every passing moment.

The vampire noticed the way Chip's eyes darted and immediately tightened his hold on the boy's pale neck. The aspiring hunter's eyes snapped back to the older man's empty set. Okay, there was no discernible way out of this. Vida and Xander were right: he was too young, this was too dangerous. Bruce Wayne hadn't become Batman until he was at least old enough to drink. Legally. Now, though, now he was so dead.

"There is no escaping me now, child. It wasn't the brightest idea to hunt with so little training, was it?" Sneering, he leaned in closer, so Chip could feel the monster's cool breath on his cheek. It burned his nose, all iron, sweat and wine. "Do you have any idea how dumb it was to hunt such an old creature? I've taken down slayers with more kills under their belts than your young, green mind could imagine." A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. "It's almost too easy, killing you. So young, so inexperienced. A shame, some would say."

Though his heart beat rapidly against his chest, something akin to courage settled in there too, paired with a vague sort of acceptance. He was going to die. Going to see his mom and dad again. Going to see Elly. That made his heart ache, a longing that had plagued him every day since the fire. He'd see them again. He could tell his mother he loved her, hug his dad again, even tease Elly. Uncle David would miss him, but it'd be okay. He'd still have Aunt Caroline and the kids. They'd all be okay.

So Chip was going to die. At the very least, he was determined to get a taste of being a hero. He was going to go out in style.

"Quit monologuing and do it," Chip spat, putting enough indifferent harshness behind the words to hopefully mask his lingering fear. The vamp raised a curious eyebrow at him, but smirked cruelly.

"Impudence," he snorted, surveying the young ginger with a fresh eye. "You know, I almost like you. If I wasn't so sure you'd off yourself, I'd turn you instead." Considering it for half a second, he shrugged. "Oh well. Tonight shall be your last."

"Think again." A new voice thundered around them, echoing down the alley. Chip barely had time to blink, let alone process how high that voice was, before an arrow was lodged in the vamp's neck, the soft release of the projectile completely, inexplicably inaudible. The creature grabbed at the shaft, releasing Chip in the process. The redhead crumbled to the ground, sucking down the air he had been denied; the third person came quickly out of the shadows, striding to stand between him and the vampire. A swift kick, encased in a steel-toed boot, was delivered to the monster's gut.

"Don't threaten my hunters, you miserable fang," the newcomer growled, and only now was Chip breathing evenly enough to notice her in detail—same dark cloak he wore, gripping a painstakingly etched and silver-inlaid bow in one hand and a gleaming dagger in the other. The streetlight caught the distinct veneer of blood coating the latter, most likely that of a dead man. Even as his brain struggled to catch up, he knew that this girl, whoever she was, had been hunting with COUNTV for far longer than he had. She was a pro, in every aspect, and his savior to boot.

The vampire stood, his own breath coming in ragged bursts, which probably had something to do with the arrow still sticking out of his neck, eyes watching the cloaked girl with the faintest hint of fear. It dawned on the young man that the other hunter's arrow had probably been dipped in dead man's blood too, and that was why the monster was so weak all of a sudden. He'd basically been poisoned.

"Now you are a challenge," the vamp murmured, almost respectfully. "I'd be delighted to be your foe." From behind her, Chip couldn't see her reaction to these words, but he got the feeling she wasn't happy, if the way her hand tightened on her dagger was any indication.

"You're not even in my league," she snarled, and slashed out at him, dagger meeting his pallid cheek with a sizzle. Crimson blood immediately bubbled up as he hissed, a hand shooting up to cover the fresh wound. The girl, though, didn't balk or hesitate. "You are nothing but a smear of dirt on this world." Another slash out at his face, over his right eye this time. "I've been hunting your kind since I was in kindergarten." Now a direct stab to the gut, delivering pain and poison as she twisted the knife in deeper. "You think you're the most powerful creature to walk these streets, but you're no more significant than the dust motes in the air." She smirked, leaving the dagger in his gut and stashing her bow on her back. "You'll join them soon enough, though." In one graceful movement, she drew a stake from an inner pocket of her cloak and plunged it into his heart. His eyes shot open, mouth dropping open in shock; these expressions only lasted a second before he dissolved into dust.

So Joss was right.

The girl lingered for a second, clutching the stake like it was her sole catharsis. After her moment, he heard her release a small breath and stand to her full height again, though that wasn't much more than five feet. She wiped the stake off on her cloak, apparently accustomed to the blood. Even after years on the farm, Chip was still a little queasy around the stuff, and that was when it belonged to animals, not inhuman monsters. And what she had said about hunting vampires since she was in kindergarten? Amazing. He'd been playing Pokemon while she took down the things that went bump in the night.

He was, in no uncertain terms, in awe. She was badass.

Only when she turned to look at him did he realize that he was staring, possibly gaping, and that he was still on the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he noted that his ribs were beginning to ache (one might even broken), but that didn't matter because she was awesome. They were nearly the same height, and yet she seemed to have so much more presence than he did. She was intimidating.

"Thank you so much," he finally managed to say. "You were so awesome back there. The way you talked to him, told him-"

"Shut up," she ordered. He blanched, not used to being spoken to in such gruff terms. The hood still hid her face, but she was definitely scowling; he could nearly feel it. "What the hell were you doing?"

"What?" he sputtered, confused by her anger. This only seemed to increase her intimidating presence, though.

"Did you come out here to commit suicide?"

"...no."

"Then what in the name of Lev were you doing out here?" Blinking, he wasn't sure what to say.

"I was here to kill a monster and save lives," he honestly answered after a moment, but this only seemed to make her presence and ire balloon.

"And look how much good that did. You could have been killed, and the fang still would've walked away, with a stomach full of your blood." Despite the fact that she was mere inches from him, her cloak hid her face perfectly. All he could see were the few stray blonde curls on the edge of her hood, and even they seemed mad at him. "Have you even been trained by a master?"

"Like a Jedi?" he asked hopefully, until he remembered how pissed she already was. "No."

"And how long have you been training on your own to fight these things?"

"About a month," he answered meekly. "But I've been using my bow since I could walk." She snorted derisively.

"Bow training is handy, but it's just a drop in the ocean. You aren't ready to do this. A month and a manual don't make you a hunter," she snapped. Shaking her head, she added wearily, "Go home, boy. Go back to your action figures and fantasy novels. You aren't a hunter." Turning on her boot heel, she stalked away into the shadows. Chip stared at her until she had fully disappeared, jaw slightly slack.

It was annoying, infuriating, but she was right. He hadn't trained enough, and almost died because of his impatience. No hero jumped into everything before they were ready. He couldn't fight, couldn't shoot so silently, couldn't stare into the emptiness without feeling fear.

He wasn't a hunter.

Yet.


End file.
